


Darkness

by Versatillite



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Gen, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:47:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5240333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Versatillite/pseuds/Versatillite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry gets turned into a vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness

The Boy Who Lived

Harry walked through the streets of London, anonymous. Another jean clad youth, strolling home from a night of pub crawling with friends. Ron sang a muggle song, tunelessly, drunkenly stumbling over his words and the pavement. Neville, leaning against Seamus for support and trying to join his voice to the song, kept forgetting the words, replacing them with his own gibberish. This elicited snorts and admonitions from Seamus, who was swaying beneath his own inebriation and Neville's added weight.

Harry focused on his trainers.

One foot in front of the other. Never drink this much again.

The Vampire

The vampire watched from the shadows. Stealthily stalking his intended meal, eyes fixed on the quiet one. Caught up in their own delirium, the others would never notice if he pulled the boy into a darkened alley.

Best to be safe. Best to watch and wait.

His patience was rewarded when the boys stepped into an alley to relieve their aching bladders. Luck was on his side, the quiet one was at the entrance to the alley. All he had to do was silently creep, faster than dazed eyes could perceive. Coming up from behind, he clasped the boy's mouth shut with one hand, wrapping his free arm around the boy's waist and in a moment they were out of the alley, climbing the opposing wall, landing on the roof. Dazzled creature in his arms, warm trickle of blood running down his chin.

So sweet. The quiet ones are always sweeter. A hint of bitter aftertaste. Perfection.

The Boy Who Died

His right hand was pressed against the cold brick wall, his left hand aimed a stream of steaming piss away from his trousers. His head was swimming, barely cogent of frozen fingers digging into his waist, a cold hand sealing his mouth. Not that he'd thought to scream. It was all a muddled dream, wasn't it? Leaning into the wall for support one minute, slumped against a cold shoulder the next. Lips pressed against his neck. No fear, only slipping slowly into a warm bath, melting into darker waters, drowning in oblivion. No pain. Only peace.

The Stranger

Harry opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered was a gentle warmth wrapping around him, filling him with peace. He woke with his own lips pressed against cold skin. Sucking in chilled blood, plunged into arctic waters, fully aware of both the night behind him and it's consequences.

“Enough,” the stranger pushed him away.

With a swish of black fabric, the stranger was gone and Harry was alone on the roof.

He had died...again, and this time, there was no coming back into the light.


End file.
